


Unearthed from Pompeii

by CorvidFightClub



Series: Life in the Crime Scene [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Buttplugs, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Jesse McCree, Dom/sub, M/M, Shibari, Sub Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFightClub/pseuds/CorvidFightClub
Summary: Jesse Doms and knows things.





	Unearthed from Pompeii

**Author's Note:**

> All of these aren't in chronological order FYI. I write them in whatever order.
> 
> Jesse refers to Hanzo as 'bronco' and makes mention of 'saddling' in the context of the scene. If that makes you uncomfortable, this might not be for you. There's no pony play, though.
> 
> Shoutout to Joke for the beta! <3

McCree sat on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, lit the end of his cigarillo and shook out the newspaper, ignoring the man tied up on his living room floor. Seeming to anyways. McCree listened for changes in breathing, safewords, whatever might signal the scene was going bad. 

There was only the rustle and thump of Hanzo fighting the ropes.

McCree would let him marinate another ten minutes. 

He’d put money on Hanzo being a CEO the first time they’d met. McCree didn’t like prying into people’s lives, but to do his job right be needed a little info to go off of. Hanging around in Hanzo’s room had given him plenty of time to compare it to the rest of the castle. The place was huge, carefully decorated, clean. Hanzo’s room was spartan by comparison. Powerful people might live in affluence but when you looked at bedrooms, people with a lot on their minds wanted simplicity. 

Then Hanzo had drawn a gun on him like it was second nature and McCree had added on “mob boss” to his assessment. Didn’t matter none. McCree wasn’t in a position to judge.

In fact, it downright buttered his biscuits.

Hanzo lived and breathed power, natural as anything. The way he held himself, sitting or standing. The way he looked at folk with those dark eyes of his.

McCree had had some immediate and selfish thoughts on exactly how he’d get that cold facade to crack in the palm of his hand. He’d reined it in hard. That sorta thing wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea.

Folding his paper, McCree got up from the couch. He grabbed a nitrile glove and slid it on as he crouched down next to Hanzo. 

Hanzo lay on his side, chest heaving under the ropes of the harness, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. 

Sliding a hand through Hanzo’s dark hair, Jesse grabbed a firm handful and pulled, bowing Hanzo’s spine. Hanzo fixed him with a glare, showing his teeth. 

Most of the powerful types McCree had worked with folded immediately. That’s what they wanted. Hanzo wanted a fight. Moreover, he wanted to lose, and to have that loss only affect him. He wanted a say in the punishment, too. It took a lot more effort but it was never boring. He shook Hanzo by the hair once, getting a growl out of him. “Hey bronco, you gonna be amenable to saddling?”

“Disgusting,” Hanzo spat.

Then there was a verbal abuse. McCree got the impression Hanzo held a lot in when dealing with the “family business”.

McCree reached down with his gloved hand and ran his fingers between Hanzo’s asscheeks, feeling for the flared end of the plug. Hanzo went still when he found it, started pulling it out. “I’m bein’ right generous with you,” McCree said. He set the small plug aside, lubed up two fingers and slid one into Hanzo’s ass. “Gettin’ you all trained like a gentleman before we start doin’ laps. My cock ain’t small.”

Hanzo writhed while McCree crooked the finger inside him, then sucked in a breath through his teeth when McCree added a second. Shit, he was tight. Imagining that around his dick made McCree a little dizzy. He fought it down. McCree always went slow with new play partners, Hanzo especially. Hanzo was like a brick of C4 and McCree didn’t know where the detonator was. He circled his fingers around the hard knot of Hanzo’s prostate until the muscles shuddered and Hanzo was rolling his hips, eyes all pupil as he panted.

McCree slid his fingers out, lubed up the next size plug and circled it around Hanzo’s asshole. He leaned down, lips almost touching Hanzo’s ear. “Feel that?” he growled low and pressed the plug in. Hanzo strained against McCree’s hand in his hair, pulling against the ropes as the toy went in. His muscles gave and the plug finished slipping inside, Hanzo’s asshole tightening around the base. “I’m a lot bigger’n that.” He rocked the plug back and forth with his thumb, slick fingers rubbing along Hanzo’s taint. 

Then he stopped touching, stood up and went back to the couch, crossing his legs at the ankle.

The things that came outta Hanzo’s mouth when he was inspired would make a fisherman blush like a virgin, and now was no exception. Jesse watched the muscles in Hanzo’s arms strain, then Hanzo was pressing his face to the floor, ribcage heaving, head bowed towards his chest and hidden behind the wide rise of his shoulders. He looked like a Greek statue unearthed from Pompeii, all hard curves of light and shadow. Rebellious Slave. The Dying Gaul. McCree knew at least two photographers who’d give their left nut to photograph someone like Hanzo all trussed up like this. Hanzo would never agree to it, which made the thought all the more illicit. McCree had this all to himself and if that didn’t put a spring in his step, nothing would. 

McCree had told himself five minutes, but he was back and touching Hanzo in three. He held onto the back of the harness with one fist, the other curling around Hanzo’s dick and jerking him off in rough passes. Hanzo’s back arched, his mouth dropping open and his eyes squeezing shut as he came over Jesse’s fist and the hardwood floor and the fluttering of his own stomach.

After giving him a minute to come down, McCree got to loosening the ropes, letting Hanzo go a little at a time, smoothing his hands down Hanzo's skin where the ropes left red lines. Then he coiled up the rope, went to the kitchen and came back with a tumbler of ice water. Hanzo was sitting up by then, still flushed and glassy-eyed but the stoic expression was back. The buttplug was already out and laying on a wad of tissues. Hanzo crossed his legs, stretched all those beautiful muscles, then stood up, wiped at his stomach, then pulled on his briefs. 

McCree hung back until Hanzo sat on the couch, then nudged the glass of ice water into Hanzo's hand. Hanzo was particular about aftercare in that he didn't want it. No words, no soft touches. McCree had to haggle him into accepting water and staying an extra fifteen minutes after a session to make sure Hanzo was back in his own head. 

Paper towels in hand, McCree wiped the floor down and stowed away the gear, making sure the lube was closed all the way. By the time he was back in the living room, Hanzo had settled back into the couch cushions, dozing, the glass empty except for ice resting against his thigh. 

McCree allowed himself a little smile as he took the tumbler from Hanzo's loose grasp. He set it on the coffee table, took the light blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Hanzo carefully as he could. 

He never thought himself a prideful man, but McCree liked being right, and he liked wondering if Hanzo slept as well in his own bed as he did on McCree's couch.


End file.
